I refuse to let you die
by junejuly15
Summary: The last scene between John and Sherlock in the lab before Sherlock meets Moriarty on the rooftop of St. Bart's. Why is he so cold? Why does he desperately try to scare away John? This is a possible explanation ... One-shot


**The last scene between John and Sherlock in the lab, moments before they part and Sherlock walks up to the roof of St Bart's to meet Moriarty. Why is he so cold? Why does he virtually scare John away? I think this is a possible explanation …**

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**I refuse to let you die**

John put down his phone. He was profoundly shocked, his voice trembled, his whole body expressing the anxiety and fear coursing through him, 'Mrs Hudson's been shot.'

'What? How?' Sherlock tried to keep emotions from his voice – It was absolutely vital that he detached himself from feelings. He deliberately didn't change his seemingly relaxed posture – feet on the counter, body turned away from John.

'Probably one of the killers you managed to attract – Jesus. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go.' The mounting panic in John's voice was an indicator that he was close to breaking point.

'You go. I'm busy.' _Detach – stay aloof – don't connect_.

John's outrage was almost palpable, 'Busy?'

'I'm thinking. I need to think.' _Detach – stay aloof – don't connect._

'You need to -?' John's voice was breaking, 'Doesn't she mean anything to you? You once half-killed a man because he laid a finger on her,' he was clever, John was, he knew his weak spots - Mrs Hudson certainly was one of them.

'She's my landlady.' _Downplay – minimise – trivialize_.

'She's dying! You … you machine.' He was flying into a fury – It wouldn't take long now. 'Sod this! You stay here if you want – alone.'

'Alone is what I have – Alone protects me.' _Keep your voice cool, don't look at him._

He _had_ to scare John away, it was crucial that he was safe and that meant being away from him.

'No, friends protect people.' A remark like a punch, meant to put Sherlock in his place, Sherlock who obviously didn't know what love is, what friends were for - John grabbed his jacket and left the lab, furious and disappointed.

Sherlock's head shot up and followed the movement of the swing door mocking the presence of John who had left him. John's angry parting felt like a knife twisting in his heart, but he had to let him go. It was part of his plan, part of what would eventually save John. He could not risk telling him. He could not let him in. He had to go through this alone.

Slowly he let his feet slide from the counter. He virtually slumped down – all the coolness and bravado gone. All that filled him now was sadness, grief and trepidation – in fact he felt utter, gut-wrenching panic when he thought of the confrontation that lay ahead. He let his head sink on his chest and exhaled slowly.

John, John, _John_ – Nothing in the world would ever make him allow anybody to harm him. No bloody way - He'd rather die in disgrace, have the whole world believe he was a fraud, let John believe him a liar and fake and a fairground magician making use of cheap magic tricks than let Moriarty lay a finger on him.

What broke his heart was that it meant foregoing all that could have been.

John - Sherlock.

John and Sherlock.

Sherlock and John.

So much hovering between them. So much left unsaid. So much left unthought.

It was eating him alive - his skin tingling with the anguish of having to let go all those possibilities - his skin sensitive to the touch as if he was burning with fever. His arms hanging loosely down his sides, fingers fluttering nervously – the fear and panic manifesting themselves in this tremor, this incapacity to remain still.

Oh, he had been toying with the idea of confiding in John – not about Moriarty, not about the plan. No – confiding in him the feelings that he had harboured for quite some time now. He had balanced pros and cons, stripped away all sentiment, reapplied it because you couldn't very well decide on your feelings without taking them into account, could you? He could detach himself from feelings, but that didn't mean he didn't have any.

But telling John would have meant going against everything he believed he was, and what other people believed he was and when Moriarty's lies had closed in on him he had come to the conclusion that he had waited too long. He should have told John weeks, maybe months ago and then live with the consequences. How he cursed himself, how he mourned all those wasted moments! – Now? It was too late.

He would have to live with the fact that John would hate him, be angry with him, mourn him, grieve for him and maybe even believe him a fraud. But everything was infinitely better than letting anyone harm him. He strictly refused to let him die.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest and he had to fight hard to chase away those unpleasant and haunting sensations – _No use – Don't cry – Stop this – Stay calm _–

He straightened his back and wiped his hands over his eyes. He tried conjuring up John's image. He saw him smiling at him, a bemused frown crinkling his forehead and his head tilted questioningly to the side. Sherlock smiled back – _Goodbye, my John_ – and took his phone out of his breast pocket.

With infinite care he typed the text and each bloody letter felt like a nail to the coffin of his future. He waited for the reply and when it came he grabbed his coat and scarf and walked out of the lab leaving his life and love behind.

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**A/N** Please be so nice and review … It means a lot to me, thank you so much! JJ


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